• Vol. 09
  • Chapter 10
Image by


I promise you this is not some poorly executed knock-knock joke, but when I saw a train carriage arrive carrying just a lawn mower and a camouflage military bag, I freaked out. I freaked out more when the rest of the train, all fourteen carriages, were empty.


Not a single person, with the closest example of which being the PA of someone off the telly. Trekking up and down the train, my destination became the least of my worries and I was lured in by this rapture-like vanishing act as I progressed further up the train. The seats were still filthy and caked in dust, the bins were full of refuse and the doors were fully operational, opening with that same civil hiss they always had. After each door, I turn around to see if this is all still so vivid, as if I wasn’t in on some social experiment.


This wasn’t the case. Where good folk, bad folk, old folk, young folk, and all the rest would sit and stand, luggage lay slumped and discarded by it’s owners; props in a static set with the actors on strike. And with a flickering of the lights, the train sealed it’s doors and began to move. Knocked to my feet, the last thing I saw before blacking out was a station full of people standing still. Featuring blurred by speed and nausea, at least a hundred pairs of eyes watched me fall unconscious.

The last thing I felt as I fell unconscious was the full force of a bag of golf clubs spilling all over my back. Pressed between the 9 irons and the rubber-reeking floor, I was carried off into the black maw of the tunnel.